


Swords from the Same Forge

by Bofur1



Series: BofurGlóinNori [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Bar Room Brawl, Gen, Khuzdul, Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:19:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from in_a_blog_in_the_ground:</p><p><em>"Some of the guys are just kicking back in a pub, enjoying a pint or seven, then there's trouble, and suddenly everything's a mess and they all have to flee into the night."<em></em></em><br/>  <em><br/><em>There's no use fighting over spilt ale, the Dwarves often say. But apparently these racist Men-folk don't agree.</em></em><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [in_a_blog_in_the_ground](https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_a_blog_in_the_ground/gifts).



_This is the life— my feet propped up, a mug of ale in hand, and naughtily drunk friends by my side_. These were the thoughts running through Nori’s head as he relaxed in his favorite tavern.

“There’s nothin’ like havin’ a good ol’ pint once in a whil’,” sighed Bofur with satisfaction. He grinned at Nori, Glóin, and Bifur and added, “Or per’aps four.” So saying, he downed his fourth mug easily.

“ _Gamut khezum goraz_ ,” Bifur agreed, wiping his beard free of froth. The gleam in his eyes, though dimmed because of his long-ago accident, betrayed mischief. “ _Caku tûm rasp mênu, mê nidoy?_ ”

Bofur didn’t understand the words, but he was certain he heard a dare in his cousin’s voice. He sat up, and tipped his hat back from his eyes.

“You challengin’ me t’ somethin’, Bif?” Bofur asked suspiciously. Bifur smiled and gestured vaguely to the pitcher of ale at the corner of the table, and then to their two mugs. Bofur’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“A drinkin’ contest,” Glóin exclaimed. “This I hafta see!” Bifur’s smile grew wider.

“But...I—I don’t...” Poor Bofur stammered a bit.

Nori joined in. “C’mon, Bof, give it a go. Yer not a young coward an’more—”

At that Bofur bristled indignantly. “I nev’r have been, thank ye very much,” he retorted sharply.

“Then prove it,” Nori said cheerfully as he swallowed the last of his own drink. “If ya beat Bifur I have a fat pouch o’ coins waitin’ fer ya.”

“Doubled by myself,” Glóin added.

Bofur’s cheeks were coloring deeply. He was feeling rather flustered. Why were they ganging up on him like this? “Uh...a’right,” he faltered, reaching for the pitcher. Bifur reached for it at the same time. Their hands bumped, and the pitcher toppled backward, shattering on a passing Man’s foot. He shouted in pain and anger, and Bofur jumped back, startled. Bifur reacted a second slower and was left still grasping air when the Man whirled toward them.

“What’re you doing?” the fellow demanded.

“The jug just slipped, s’all,” Bofur hastily came to Bifur’s rescue. “He didn’t mean t’ do it.”

“Witless invalids never mean to do anything,” the Man snarled in reply. In their moment of shock at his words he twisted Bifur’s long beard into his gnarly fist and gave a sharp tug. Bifur cried out as he was dragged prostrate onto the table and a blade was pressed into his spine. “Now beg a courtesy from good Mr. Cusar, invalid, before I do something you’ll regret.”

“ _Birashagimi, Uz-Cusari!_ ” Bifur bleated pitifully, his voice muffled as his face was pressed into the surface of the table. He thrashed a bit, but the axe blade in his forehead was catching on a crack in the wood. That, and the knife in his back, prevented Bifur from jerking free.

Cusar felt a grip of iron clamp onto his wrist. When he looked up, there stood one of the other Dwarves, the one with the wild auburn hair. His face was twisted in a deep glower.

“It was ’n accident, and Bifur apologized. Let ’im go _now_.”

Cusar snickered. “Or what, starfish head? I’m the one who has him held down by a knife.”

Nori was about to sucker punch the fool, but Bofur beat him to it by a single second, his fist slamming into the Man’s eye. Cusar’s knife skittered, and the holder fell on his back.

“That’s fer callin’ m’ cousin an invalid!” Bofur shouted, dark eyes flashing. “Now ye should get outta here while ye still got yer legs!”

However, Cusar decided he wasn’t going to leave. Instead he leapt to his feet and motioned to some Men behind him. “Get ’em!” The drunken gang was pleased to oblige.


	2. Chapter 2

Enraged and with the fire of the ale in their veins the Dwarves charged to meet their attackers.

Glóin didn’t plan on killing anyone, but his axe was in his hand all the same. He tackled one of the Men around the waist and took him down hard. The fellow’s head bounced off the ground but was sent back as Glóin’s fist made contact with his jaw. Weakened from the blow, the Man made little effort to squirm out from beneath his attacker. He kept his hands hoisted above his face.

After he was content with the amount of bruises inflicted Glóin shoved the hands down and pressed his axe blade against the Man’s throat. “I’d stay still if I were you,” he growled. When the Man opened his mouth, Glóin slammed his free fist down hard.

Nori somersaulted about, twirling his bladed quarter-staff and beating the sense out of his enemies. Skulls cracked, spines twisted, and Men fell. But still the swarms came, and Nori suddenly found himself cornered against the side of the bar. A ring of Men surrounded him, and though he looked frantically about for any escape, the noose was drawn tight. There was no way out.

The Dwarf clenched his teeth. He would go down fighting. He was about to charge forward when a Man on Nori’s left toppled to the ground. Another to his right was knocked at the base of his skull with a well-aimed boot. Bofur and Glóin had come to Nori’s rescue.

“Where’s Bifur?!” Bofur shouted above the din. He whirled and swept wide with his mattock. The long blade caught the back of his opponent’s leg and upended him. Bofur almost winced when the Man landed hard and destroyed a table beneath his weight.

“’Ow ’m I s’posed t’ know?!” Nori hollered back, thrusting his staff into a Man’s face with a great spray of blood and teeth.

“More incomin’!” Glóin barked.

The Men obviously thought to take out Glóin and Nori first, but Bofur charged them while they were distracted. The three were atop their foes at once, and if the Men incapacitated one’s attack, the other two struck fast and hard. At last the pack lay unconscious, and the three Dwarves, breathing hard, stood together above them.

“We need t’ find Bifur,” Bofur panted.

“But ’ow are we t’ find ’im in all this?” Nori asked, waving a hand at the chaos around them.

“Shouldn’t be that hard,” Glóin disagreed. “He’s a Dwarf with an axe in his head. He’s not exactly inconspicuous.”

Indeed, at that moment Bofur stood straighter and pointed. “There!”

Bifur had Cusar pinned against the wall with his own knife. The Dwarf was bellowing in rage. “ _Mênu gajamu, ozodl Burm!_ ”

Beneath the blood and bruises Cusar’s face was white. “I—I d-don’t know what—”

Bofur, Glóin, and Nori approached. “He wants _ye_ t’ apologize,” Bofur said grimly. He didn’t need to know the words to understand what his cousin wanted.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Cusar squealed. Bifur growled at him, and then flung the knife away. He turned, and carefully touched his cousin’s face.

“I’m fine,” Bofur assured him. He turned, and stared with the others at the surrounding chaos. “I s’pose we’d better get outta here,” he added. Nods secured the plan, and they crept out the door.

Once outside beneath the stars, the four Dwarves marveled at the quiet. Except for an occasional crash from inside the still-panicked tavern, there was peace.

Bifur, Bofur, Glóin, and Nori all stared at each other. Then the latter three burst out laughing.

“I’ve nev’r had so much fun in there!” Glóin exclaimed.

“An’ did ye see the look on th’ fella’s face when Bifur growled at ’im!” Bofur howled.

“And the way he squeaked: ‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry!’” Nori chortled.

Bifur watched in disbelief as the three fell in a heap on the ground, laughing and crying. Whenever they seemed about to compose themselves they would start again. But when he considered, he had to admit that Cusar’s face had been rather funny. He grinned proudly to himself. These three were definitely swords from the same forge.

"Oh," Glóin gasped. "Y'know what?"

"What?" Nori and Bofur said together.

"I forgot my boot in there! I threw it, and now I lost it!"

"Should we go back in?" Bofur asked, standing.

Nori grinned and cracked his knuckles. "Why not?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdûl
> 
> "Gamut khezum goraz." = "Good stout ale."  
> "Caku tûm rasp mênu, mê nidoy?" = "How bold are you, my boy?"  
> "Birashagimi, Uz-Cusari!" = "I'm sorry, Master Cusar!"  
> "Mênu gajamu, ozodl Burm!" = "You apologize, wicked Man!"


End file.
